


Burning Bridge

by Katzedecimal



Series: Apres La Mort [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Romantic Friendship, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-02 16:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the time since the death of his best friend, Dr. Watson has had time to think, and his thoughts have led him down the pit of despair.  What happens when he hits bottom?  And will it lead him into even greater danger?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Johnny, Get Your Gun

"Your report."

"He seems to have entered an obsessive phase, sir."

"What is he doing?"

"He keeps bouncing a small ball off the walls, sir. Poetry not intended."

"A hazard of the language. Continue your observation."

* * * *

"Your report."

"It's not good. He hasn't moved in days."

"I see. Staying homebound, is he."

"No sir - he hasn't moved _at all._ He sits in the same chair, staring at nothing. The sun rises and sets and he doesn't move. He doesn't turn on any lights nor any devices. He doesn't eat and barely drinks. I'm not even sure if he's sleeping."

"That is... unfortunate."

* * * *

"Your report."

"Er... The good news is, he's moving again."

"Beneficial. Continue."

"...The bad news is, he keeps polishing his gun."

"I see."

"Er... Sir... you don't think maybe he's...."

"I could not presume to anticipate. He is a difficult man to predict."

* * * *

"Your report."

_*click*_

Silence. 

Beat. Beat. Beat. 

"You tell me, Mycroft."

"Doctor Watson, how nice of you to drop by. What brings you here?"

"I've been thinking about things. I've been thinking about what happened. I've been thinking about what you said." Mycroft was silent. Dr. Watson hadn't moved from his position leaning casually against the closed door of his office. "And I've been thinking about how you cocked it up."

"What do you want, Doctor?"

"A few answers."

"You must know that..."

"Oh yes, I _know._ I know all the things you want me to know," John pulled a little rubber ball out of his pocket and started bouncing it off the floor from hand to hand, "But a little while ago, I was reminded that I know other things as well, and that got me thinking. And one of the things I know is that you're such a perfectionist, you couldn't cock things up if you tried. Which can only mean..... you didn't _try."_ Several intense seconds later, John smirked, "There's the Look."

"What look?"

" **That** look. Yeah. I know that look. See, I just can't make up my mind about you, Mycroft. Are you really so evil as to set your only remaining family up to be killed, or were you desperately trying to salvage a situation you'd been forced into by someone even you can't snide off on? See? - there's the Look again."

"I really don't know what you're talking about, Dr. Watson."

"Are you really that much of a bastard, Mycroft? I'm told you take after your father." Mycroft's eyes narrowed and the corners of John's mouth twitched up a bit, "Practically a clone of him, so I was told. And Sherlock was just like your Mummy."

Mycroft rose out of his chair, his eyes full of cold fury, "That is quite enough, Dr. Watson. Please leave."

"'Course your mum and dad hated each other, didn't they? Just like you and Sherlock."

"Please. Leave. **Now,** Dr. Watson."

John smirked and tapped his chin, "'Course, your mum committed suicide, didn't she. Plunged off a height, just like her youngest. Like mother, like son."

" **John.** "

"Sherlock always blamed himself for that but you know what I think? - I think she couldn't bear to have given birth to a monster like y-ah I knew that'd do the trick!" John seized the incoming fist in both hands and swung about, using Mycroft's momentum to spin him around and pull him off balance. A swift kick scythed his legs out from under him, knocking him to the floor, where John pinned him painfully. "Now then," he said cheerfully.

Mycroft struggled but stars exploded behind his eyes from his arm, twisted and held at the point of dislocating. The pain only subsided when he ceased moving. Then he felt the cold muzzle of John's gun nestle behind his ear. _Damn._ "What do you want?"

"I want to know if I'm right, Mycroft," John said pleasantly, "And before you answer, you should ask yourself, What have I got to lose?"

_Blast!_ John Watson looked like such a push-over. With his slumpy posture and his expression of permanent slight befuddlement, his friendly demeanour and general affability, his pathetic attempts to pursue a civilian life and his puppy-like devotion to his flatmate. The man was so much like a cute, fluffy animal, he was easy to underestimate. It was so easy to forget that he'd had combat experience, that he'd been a captain and served in one of the bloodiest, most dangerous regions. It was so easy to forget that the reason he'd failed to fit in with civilians was because he walked in a different world. You could strap a bomb onto him, only for him to throw himself onto you and dare you to push the button. He'd known it, Sherlock had known it - the cute fluffy animal was actually a mongoose. And he'd just brought down a cobra.

Still, 'What had he got to lose?' Bit of a silly question, really, given that the office was...

"See, here's what makes me suspect you're really that evil, Mycroft: You have this office bristling with surveillance tech - microphones, cameras... And yet you're on the floor with a gun held to your head by a man who's more than a little off his nut, quite frankly, and nobody is running to your rescue. Nobody with even a shred of conscience is going to help a man who'd sell out his own brother, even under orders. And I _know_ about being under orders. That puts you in a spot of trouble, doesn't it."

Wrong interpretation. Not 'What did Mycroft have to lose', but 'What did **John** have to lose?' And the answer to that was - nothing. Nothing at all. No matter how this went, he had nothing to lose at all. 

"So, Mycroft, it comes down to this: With what you know and what I know, what could you **possibly** say to me that could get you out of the kind of trouble you're in?"

Mycroft's mind was racing. What could he say? It's true, there had been a contingency plan in case John ever.. but what **could** he say that wouldn't.... He replayed the entire conversation in his head and realized...

"Ah. There's the look again."

" **What** look?" John only smiled. Mycroft sighed and muttered a series of numbers, glancing quickly at the gun. 

No. Not at the gun. John eased off, slowly releasing Mycroft's arm and letting him sit up while he skootched over to the safe only partially hidden in the corner behind the desk. Too obvious to contain anything _really_ important. Nevertheless, John took every precaution as he punched in the numbers. The door clicked.... and swung open, soundless. John glanced quickly at the contents then tucked them into his jacket. "Sorry for the trouble," he said, "It won't bruise and a few anti-inflammatories'll have it right as rain in no time."

Mycroft nodded slowly, "And my... coworkers?"

John grinned and held up a small bright yellow dropper bottle, "Just a little Rescue Remedy. Relieves stress and anxiety. Just a few drops in your tea." Mycroft grunted and John swung out the door, then looked back. "And I've made up my mind about you," he said as he closed the door. Then he poked his head back in, "You know, your brother got the same look. It meant the same thing with him."

**"What look??"**

But he knew the answer. It was the look that said "My god, he really **is** that smart." He bent to retrieve the crumpled bit of paper that had fallen from John's right pocket.

_"Sorry I had to hurt you,"_ he read, _"But I'm betting that barrel you're over hurts a lot more."_


	2. Riding the Rail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a plan. Ted Anders makes a friend while on holiday.

_"If you are reading this, then you will have figured it out. We suspected you might and suspected you would be dogged enough to pursue it. I must caution you that what you are about to do is extremely dangerous. If you have acquired these items, you will surely understand what I mean. You must understand completely that it is **your** life that has been the motivator. Everything, up to and including the incident, has been orchestrated to keep **you** safe. It is **your** life that was under threat **and that has not changed.** Now your determination is jeopardizing not only everything we have worked for, but also that which you seek. You must understand that fully before you continue as, if you have gotten this far, I am quite certain you will. So be it, but it will not be easy. You will understand that I cannot simply give you names, however much I might wish to. You will have to take what information has been left to you on the device, providing you can read it. I've no doubt you will. Why did you continue to send emails to a dead man? Why such attachments? I have provided to you what assistance I am able. Good luck. --Mycroft."_

And below it, in fresher ink:

_"He had often said about you that he would be lost without his blogger. We failed to realize that his blogger would be equally lost without him. I am at a loss to understand it but the truth is undeniable. Therefore, despite the risk it presents, I wish you success."_

And below that, in ink so fresh it was still faintly fragrant:

 _"In answer to the question that I'm sure must be very difficult not to ask, No, not yet. But very close to giving in, I believe. I don't think it will be much longer."_

John refolded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, then looked at the device. And smiled. 

All of the songs he had sent were there, and new ones had been uploaded. Heart's _Alone_ had been paired with Sass Jordan's _So Hard._ The Rolling Stones, _Miss You_ had been paired with America, _I Need You._ The Flying Pickets' cover of _Only You_ had been answered with Bonnie Raitt's cover of _Right Down The Line._ And Dalbello's _Wait For An Answer_ had been answered twice, first with Simple Minds, _Alive And Kicking_ , then with _Travelling Man._

He uploaded _Five Hundred Miles_ by the Proclaimers, then _Vacation_ by the Go-Gos. When he came back from running his errands, they'd been answered by The Beatles' _Norwegian Wood._ And he was grinning so hard his face hurt.

* * * *

"Your report."

"Seems he's feeling better. He's written himself a prescription for some anti-depressants and booked holiday time. He's booked a train to the continent."

"Certainly an improvement."

"Yes sir. This is the medication, sir. He's filled quite a bit of it, in preparation for his trip."

 _Ah, a dopamine re-uptake inhibitor. Used for treating addictions._

 

"No doubt." 

* * * *

John settled back into the seat and checked his watch. The train would arrive in Brussels around tea time, then he had a few hours' wait before boarding the train to Cologne. He checked the player and saw that a new song had been uploaded - Avril Lavigne's _Why._ He listened to it and thought about how to reply.

Why? It seemed so simple, didn't it? So simple, everyone could see it. Everyone had told him what he did for Sherlock, how Sherlock had improved after John had come into his life. No one ever asked whether Sherlock had done anything for him. No one had ever asked how Sherlock gave back. 

And it was simple. It was this. He felt more alive than he had in ages. His mind was working again, ticking over, planning ahead. He was a captain again. For Sherlock, it was the game; for John, it was the action. And he was acting again. He was alive again. He rooted through the collection of USB sticks he'd brought with him, finally selecting Stevie Nicks' _Wild Heart_ and Queen's _You're My Best Friend_ and uploaded them. After a few minutes, he uploaded _Should I Stay Or Should I Go,_ by the Clash. 

The train was just pulling into Brussels when the answer arrived. He listened to James McMorrow's _The Sparrow and the Wolf_ while he sipped his tea and waited for the train to Cologne. 

Yes, it had occurred to him that he might be walking into a trap. He had no proof that it was Sherlock who was uploading the songs, no proof at all that he was 'talking' to his old friend. But that's what hope was made of, wasn't it? 

And that was why he had let his beard grow some scruff, why every ticket clerk called him Mr. Anders, why he'd brought his weapons, and why he was uploading Paul Simon's _You Can Call Me Al._

But when the return song was Avril Lavigne's _Sk8er Boi_ , he was stumped.

* * * *

He'd had time for a meal in Cologne before boarding the overnight train to Copenhagen. Now John curled up on his sleeper bunk, flipping through the songs on the player and thinking. 

_Hell with it, John,_ he chided himself, _Just get it over with. It's pretty damned obvious by now anyways. Nobody goes to the lengths you're going to for somebody who's **just** a friend._ He uploaded Stevie Nicks' _Has Anybody Ever Written Anything For You?_ and sighed. He wondered how Sherlock would respond, if he would respond. If it was really Sherlock. 

 

An hour later, the player indicated the arrival of a new song. John smiled as he listened to Bryan Adams' _Everything I Do._ He found he didn't have _Thank You For Being A Friend_ by Andrew Gold, and had to use his phone to search for it. Then he turned the light off and cried himself to sleep. 

* * * *

 _How the bloody hell am I going to let him know I'm arriving in Oslo?_ John thought as he stared up at the train schedule. He sipped his morning coffee, having had breakfast in the station. _If he's worked it out that I'm coming by train, he'll have worked out that that's my destination. But I didn't say that's how I'm travelling, so to speak. Hmm.. Plus there's a ferry route between Copenhagen and Oslo too. Damn._ Then an idea struck him and he searched through his USB sticks until he found a song. He retitled it to _Last Train to Oslo_ and uploaded it onto the player. 

_Now what the hell did he mean by "Sk8er Boi"?_ He mulled the question for the rest of the day. 

It was late when the train pulled into the station, at last. _Well, here I am in Norway,_ John thought. He stepped off and looked around then went to the baggage claim and checked the player. Nothing. Well then... what to upload, while he waited for his single duffle bag to be offloaded. He thought of uploading Air Supply's _The One That You Love_ and bit his lip hard to keep from grinning. Nooooo, maybe not, not just yet anyways. 

Then his phone chimed. 

John looked at it. It was a pay-as-you-go he'd bought solely for this trip, with the intent of losing it afterwards. He'd given the number to only one person, for just this very reason - in the hopes that it would make its way to someone else. Time to find out. 

[22:04 Linus Sigerson] I'm right in front of you.

John looked up. There was a chap leaning against a wall about five feet away, wearing beaten-up jeans, trainers, and a _Batman_ hoodie, staring down at his phone. John started to grin, _Skater boy - how he's dressed!_ He shouldered his duffelbag and backpack and walked over, "Linus?"

The chap slowly looked up. John took in the sunken, stark cheekbones and pallid colour underneath the blond-frosted black hair and the silly little soul-patch beard. But the ice blue eyes were the same and he watched as they skimmed over the name tag on the duffel, looked puzzled for an instant. Then they met his own and life flooded into them as the pale, chewed lips curved into that soft-edged smile, "Ted."

John burst out laughing, "Oh bloody hell, man..." He waved a hand at Sherlock's hair, "What's with this, your Vanamonde Heliotrope cosplay?"

"It's more trouble than it's worth, I can tell you that," Sherlock grinned, "The car's out through here."

John stopped in his tracks, "You're driving??"

"No, you are."

John started to breathe again. Sherlock was the worst kind of distracted driver, he'd rather do another tour of duty at the front than let Sherlock drive again. "Right, well you're navigating. Where's home these days?"

"Ummmmmmmm....."

"You **do** have a home, yes?"

"It's a studio flat..."

"And unfurnished but for a table for your laptop and a mattress on the floor, am I right?" John swung his bags into the car boot. 

"Ummm...."

"A lilo on the floor."

"You're getting better at this."

"No, I just know you. It's fine, as long as there's somewhere to crash."

"Actually, there's a hotel just down the..."

John slammed the boot lid down, "Linus Sigerson, do you really think I would hunt you down all this way, just to stay in a sodding _hotel?"_

There was that little smile again, "Alright, alright, but just so you know, it's.."

"It's a dump."

"I've been busy..."

"So's 221b."

Sherlock stopped, "What, really??"

"Yes, really. Worse than you." He watched Sherlock digest that for a moment.

They got into the car. "'Ted'? Really? You don't look like a 'Ted.'"

"Do I look like a John? ..oh god..."

Sherlock's grin was wicked, "You said it, not me."

"Yes I walked into that, didn't I." They laughed and he put the car in gear and followed Sherlock's directions. 

* * * *

The flat really was a dump and not just because Sherlock lived there. John didn't care, though. He dropped his duffelbag and slid his backpack off then kicked a space on the floor and sank down with a sigh.

"There's tea," Sherlock offered.

"This late at night?"

"Chamomile?"

"Alright." He looked around while Sherlock put the kettle on in the tiny kitchenette. No posters on the wall, no decorations, nothing to indicate that a person actually _lived_ here as opposed to merely existing.... His eye fell on something that appeared to have been hastily shoved underneath the blankets on the lilo and he twitched them aside. It was a small fluffy teddy bear. It was wearing a little t-shirt with the name "John" stenciled on it.

"Ah......!" 

He looked up to see Sherlock standing with two steaming mugs, looking slightly panicky. He waved the bear next to his face and grinned, "'Ted', see?" He took the offered mug and debated for a moment, "Look, if it makes you feel better, I've got a stuffed otter called 'Sherlock', alright?"

"An otter? Why an otter?"

"Ah......" _Crap! How do I explain this? ...and I bet that's exactly what he was thinking a second ago..._ "It.. reminded me of you."

"How do otters remind you of me?"

"It... goes back to something Harry... No, never mind, it's stupid..."

"Well now I really want to hear this."

John sighed and hugged the bear - if he got kicked out for this, he got kicked out... "Harry and I had this silly thing for picking pictures of otters that look like Sherlock Holmes, alright, she started it, it was stupid and silly and it made me laugh...." he trailed off in the face of Sherlock's Look.

"Otters. That look like me."

"Sorry, Sherlock."

"I should hope so, that's otterly preposterous."

"Yeah I..what?"

"You need an otter hobby, John."

"Ow!"

"So I **am** your significant otter!"

"Oh god, Sherlock...!" They were both laughing now, laughing until the tears came. "And here I thought it'd be me first with the waterworks... Come here... No, never mind the cup..."

"John, I'm so sorry..."

"I know. Look, Mycroft said **my** life was in danger; what did he mean?"

"Moriarty's assassins, they were trained on you, the whole time. There was a target on you the whole time I was on that roof, John. The whole time I was talking to you, I could see the laser sight trained on the back of your head. The way Moriarty had fixed it, the only way to call them off was to die."

John wasn't even trying to check his tears. He nodded, "I knew if anyone could fake their way out of it, it'd be you." He reached for a tissue; strangely enough, that was one thing this flat had no shortage of, tissues. "Mycroft said it's still going on, I'm still under the gun?"

"Yes. They suspect I'm still around but they can't get any leads. We've had intel that they're planning to look to you. That's why Mycroft told you."

"In for a penny, in for a pound," John agreed, "Alright, I can work with that."

"You haven't asked who 'they' are yet."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that Moriarty had a sibling."

Sherlock looked impressed, "Morris and Arthur James. Very good, John! That's why I couldn't come up with James Moriarty."

"Morry-Arty," John shook his head and grinned then turned serious again, "And they're not just after you, are they." It wasn't a question. "Mycroft's in it deep. Someone wants **both** of the Holmes boys out of the way and they set Mycroft up to set _you_ up. Now you're gone, they'll be wanting to get rid of Mycroft next; my guess'll be treason, if they can prove that you're alive." Sherlock was staring at him. "What? I told Mycroft, I _know_ what it's like to be under that kind of orders. And I've had time to think."

"I know, that's what I like about you."

"How far off am I?"

"Near as we've been able to tell, you're spot on."

"Good! I can work with that."

"That's twice you've said that."

"Yes," John said, wiping his eyes dry, "Like I've said, I've had a lot of time to think. **Tomorrow** , we will talk about more than just the highlights. Right now, I've been travelling for the whole weekend and I'm exhausted, and you look like you haven't been sleeping or eating properly, have you. Mycroft thinks you're close to relapsing." John expected a litany of what Mycroft could do with himself, but Sherlock only looked away in guilty silence. "Have you?" Quick shake of the head. "Good. I've brought you something to help with it."

And Sherlock looked at him with the kicked-puppy eyes, "John, just you being here helps with it."


	3. Norwegian Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a chance to show some cleverness to his new friend, Linus Sigerson. And he works out just how deep his friendship with Sherlock Holmes really went.

_And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flown... yeahhhhhhh no._ John lay still, not yet ready to open his eyes. He felt warm and snug and rested for the first time in ages. He didn't want to move. Which was a good thing because he'd gotten himself so thoroughly tangled up with Sherlock, he wasn't sure he **could** move.

"For the record, I have no idea how we managed this," Sherlock mumbled.

"S'okay," John mumbled back.

"I thought you'd be more uncomfortable about it."

John nuzzled the thin, warm skin under his cheek, "So did I." He opened his eyes and looked up. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he was idly stroking John's hair. "I like that. It feels nice." 

Sherlock grunted and the faint faint smile curved the corners of his mouth. After a few minutes, he murmured, "You really shouldn't have come here."

"I know," John said simply, "It's a stupid mistake, I know that. I thought about going through it all again. The aggravation, the body parts in the fridge, the experiments, the questionable substances in my tea, the arrogant gittery..."

"I don't think that's a word," there was amusement in Sherlock's voice.

"It is this early in the morning," John retorted and sighed, "I thought, do I want to go through all of that again?" He hugged Sherlock a little tighter, "And then I thought, Hell yes." He nuzzled again and looked up, "Some mistakes are too much fun to make only once. You know?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and he smiled, "Yeah. I do know. I...... wasn't here. I was chasing a lead in Japan, when Mycroft told me what you'd done."

"I'm really sorry about that. I hope I didn't hurt him too badly."

"He was more agitated by what you said about Mummy."

"I'm sorry about that too. It was to goad him into trying to strike me."

"I know. He's most tiffed that it worked."

"That I can believe. So why not meet me in Japan? Why send me here to Norway? Do you not actually live here?"

"I do, I'm just not often here, I'm more often out chasing leads."

"You needed time to think, too," John guessed. 

Sherlock hesitated, then nodded. "You're a liability," he admitted, "I knew it well before and it was proven in a manner I don't wish to repeat. I'm much too dangerous to associate with. We're both better off apart."

"Right, which is why we both plunged into a downward spiral, I started drinking, you're hovering on the edge of relapse, and we both ran straight for each other the second we realized we had a chance."

".....right."

"Right, well, we've seen how well 'better off apart' is working, so let's try 'you and me against the world' instead, alright?"

"Yes, John."

"And something died in here, I can smell it. It's probably that mouse on your chin."

Sherlock smirked, "Don't mock it too much, it's been working."

"It's a good shave job," John nodded, "It looks like an independent entity. Does it crawl off on its own and have its own adventures?"

"If it does, I'm sure you'll blog about them" Sherlock shot back and they laughed. 

"Alright," John said, struggling to extricate himself, "Is there anything to eat in this flat or are we going out first?"

"I think there should be some waffles in the freezer."

John checked. "Waffles and bacon, good job." He spun out to the bathroom and when he returned, started sorting dishes for washing up - he was going to need a pan anyways, might as well. "I brought you stuff," he said as he put the kettle on and checked the cupboards. The only coffee was instant so he made tea. "It's in the duffel, have a look. There's an SAD lamp, you'll need it at this latitude, and I brought you some Welbutrin to help with the cravings."

"Yes, John."

"You're to get on it straight away and no arguments."

"Yes, John."

"I brought enough to last you three months, that was all I could get. I'll make arrangements so you're covered beyond that."

"Yes, John."

"Good lord, does the landlord do _any_ repair work at all?"

"No, John."

"Aha! Found it! It **was** one of your spare beards!" There was a clatter as John disposed of the dead mouse then more clattering as he went around with a garbage bag and collected the trash, reflecting that it said something about how well he knew Sherlock that he was able to tell what was trash and what looked like trash but was some sort of heinous experiment. The aroma of bacon started to fill the flat. He brought the tea over to where Sherlock was still lying on the lilo, staring vacantly ahead. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said barely above a whisper, "Nothing's wrong at all."

"So why d'you keep saying 'Yes John' like most people say 'Yes dear'?"

Sherlock glanced at him with that faint little smile, "Do they?" He sat up and took the tea while John went back to check on the bacon. "....John?"

"Hm?"

"How did you work it out about Mycroft? The treason part is especially interesting, how did you work that out?"

John came back with two plates of bacon and waffles and shoved a few experiments aside to set them on the table. "Just worked backwards, really. Mycroft had told me of his cock-up regarding Moriarty but let's face it, Mycroft's so competant, he couldn't cock up cocking up, so it had to have been deliberate on his part. So, he seeded Moriarty then set him loose, so in effect, Mycroft set you up. Did he know Moriarty would try to kill you? - I don't know, haven't worked that out for sure yet, but he knew Moriarty would go after you somehow. Why? - Simple enough, after you told me what Mycroft said to you after you got in his way, about being a threat to national security. That's what Mycroft deals with, so if you're a threat, he has to deal with you. But he could have done that simply by being less cagey with you, couldn't he? I know he operates on 'need to know', but rules turn to rubber spaghetti whenever Mycroft gets near them, he could have simply recognised that you 'need to know' a lot more than most people. You're not fond of each other but you do respect each other's work, and I know you won't deliberately get in Mycroft's way, **if** you know there's a way not to get into. So, either Mycroft's a truly evil bastard who set a psychopath loose to get his own brother killed, or else someone else had to have ordered him to eliminate you properly, and it had to have been someone he couldn't easily spaghettify his way around. If so, then Mycroft was over a barrel, and the only way he could get around it was to set Moriarty loose and hope that you were clever enough to escape. And you haven't touched your breakkie. Get on it."

Sherlock had his chin balanced on his fist and was watching John intently, "The world thinks I'm dead; why go after Mycroft?"

"Two reasons. One, Mycroft's the witness who can link a trail back to the British government letting a dangerous criminal mastermind loose to go after one of its citizens. Two, people are jealous idiots. Mycroft is as brilliant as you are and much as he's good at keeping his head down, the problem with brilliance is that it shines no matter what. And you've said it yourself, Mycroft's specialty is omniscience - there's no end to what he knows, and I'm betting somebody's realized that. Get on it, I said."

"Why treason?"

"Politics. Easiest way to eliminate someone in a corrupt government. I'm betting someone else guessed that you faked your death, and if they can prove it, they can go after Mycroft for abetting a threat to the nation. But I'm guessing that even if they can't, they can go after him for letting Moriarty loose. Either way, he's really under the gun. Ha! - now you're giving me the look."

Sherlock shook his head and grinned, "John, you are astounding! You are amazing, you truly are. We knew Mycroft was under threat but I couldn't figure out what the angle was." He picked up the plate and started eating. Then, at John's pointed look, took the pills with his tea. "You always come up with a different take on things. It's like your genius goes....." he flailed his hands wildly, looking for a word, "Out. Or something. I don't know."

John grinned, "See, this is why you shouldn't go faking your death without me. You need me."

Sherlock hmphed and pointedly stuck a bit of waffle in his mouth, then frowned, "Now we have to figure out who gave the orders, on top of everything else. And why."

"I can help you with that."

"You can? How?"

"I know some people. **After** breakfast."

"So how did **you** know about the brother?"

John shrugged and sipped his tea, "Simple statistics. The average family has two children, the odds were high there's at least one more Moriarty. And a business like that tends to stay in the family, so to speak, so it just made sense. It was just a suspicion until Mycroft's note confirmed my life is still in danger. Why would it be, unless someone wants revenge, and who'd want revenge for Moriarty except a relative?"

"Same line of reasoning, then," Sherlock nodded, "My associates in America were able to come up with over three hundred aliases for Morris James, with facial comparisons. That's one of the reasons why I went with the skater look," he said apologetically.

John grinned, "Here I thought you were trying to be fashionable. Did you look only for a brother? Look for a sister, too. They tend to marry frequently for the name changes, and the legality of marriage licenses gives them a lot of room to move. If there's a sister, she'll be harder to find." John looked thoughtful for a moment, as though something had just occurred to him.

"You're right there; Arthur was the 'public face', Morris is even deeper in the shadows than he was." Sherlock chewed a mouthful of bacon thoughtfully, "You know a lot about crime families."

"I served in Afghanistan, opium capital of the world." He looked up to see Sherlock giving him that look again. No, it was more than just that look, this was something deeper. 

"You really have gotten better at this."

John smirked around a sip of tea, "I had a good teacher." Sherlock smiled and he shrugged, "Lestrade still comes around from time to time. I guess he figures some of it rubbed off on me. Maybe it has."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Would have thought Lestrade would have chucked me in the bin like everyone else has."

John shrugged again, "I think it's mainly Anderson and Donovan are still as incompetant as ever. But I really think Lestrade recognises they're dead wrong about you." He watched Sherlock's face. " **I** know they're dead wrong about you. If you had looked me up online, you'd have known that Harry is my sister, not my brother, but you didn't. And I still wish I'd had a camera for your face." Ah the smirk was back. "Is it my turn to ask a question?"

"Mm?"

"How'd you do it? I worked out about the rubber ball - I was furious with myself for that, after all I'd watched the damned episode with you. But something that complex, you had to have had help."

"Molly."

John smacked his forehead, "Molly! Of course, why didn't I think of that?"

"Not that good yet," Sherlock smirked.

"And you got the idea from Irene Adler."

"But getting better."

"Oh shush," John grinned and they laughed.

"So...... You're not angry with me then?"

"Hell no, I'm bloody furious and I could punch your lights out but it's too early in the morning."

"So.... You're going to wait until later, then?"

"By then I'll have forgotten about it." John pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head, "Look, Sherlock, I understand, I really do. I would understand if it was just your life you were trying to save, but if I was under the gun, too, well you've thrown people out of windows for threatening Mrs. Hudson, that's all I can say."

"She was targetted too. And Lestrade."

"What, seriously?"

Sherlock nodded. "He said his aim was to crush the heart out of me..."

John saw it. "Come here..." Sherlock glanced at him then sort of folded his shoulders in on himself and leaned awkwardly towards him. John wrapped his arms around him and felt Sherlock nestle against his neck. To his surprise, he felt tension flood out of Sherlock's muscles. "Tell me."

"I've always said that friendships are a liability..."

John blew out a frustrated sigh, "Can't exactly argue, given the circumstances. Way to go, Moriarty. But, Sherlock, that's what he wanted."

He felt Sherlock nod. "...I think he crushed a lot more than just my heart."

"I can believe that. Christ, Sherlock, these months without you.... Just...... _Fuck_ , it feels like my soul's been ripped in half." Sherlock's head snapped up and he stared at John. "...You too?"

"How do you **do** that?? Put words on it like that?? You do that all the time and I can never figure out how you manage it, you always manage to find the right words."

"It's a talent," John smirked.

"It's a bloody amazing one."

John chuckled and rubbed Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock, it's true that friends can be vulnerabilities but they can also be your strengths, especially me. You have got to stop treating me like Princess Peach and start treating me as your partner! I was a captain in Afghanistan, for heaven's sake, I've dealt with child soldiers and suicide bombers, assassins, and just about everything else humanity can think of to do to each other. I'm not a weak spot in your armour, Sherlock; if I know there's a threat, I can deal with it, _remember?_ They're not going to fridge me without a fight on my part."

"Mycroft called you a mongoose, you know," Sherlock said after a moment.

"Did he really? That's amusing, 'cause I think of him as a snake." After a few moments, he said, "There's this term the Irish use, for a friend who's as close and dear as you are to me. They call that person an 'anam cara,' it means 'soul friend'..." Sherlock's head snapped up again and he stared at John as though he'd just predicted the fall of Rome. "And it's considered very precious and rare. And I can believe that because I've had lots of friends over the years but none like you. And there's nothing I wouldn't do for the best friend of my soul."

Sherlock sagged against him again, seeming both relieved and defeated. He nodded against John's neck then mumbled "You even hug me properly."

"Do I?" John seemed amused by that, "Wasn't aware that you could hug wrong."

"I do."

"What, seriously? People have told you that you hug wrongly? I know you don't often hug back..."

"It gets... awkward and tangly," Sherlock flailed his hands uselessly, trying to explain, "It's too much. Only Mummy ever got it so it wasn't too much."

"And now me." Sherlock nodded. John made another tick off his mental checklist, "Did you ever hug your Mum?"

Instead of answering, Sherlock sat up, "Turn around." 

John did, wondering, then felt Sherlock's arms slide around his waist carefully, settling just below his ribs, then he felt Sherlock's cheek press against the back of his head. "Was she cooking or doing chores, when you hugged her?" Sherlock nodded. "Ah," John smiled and patted Sherlock's knee, "That's okay, then." He leaned back against the other man and rested his hands on top of Sherlock's. "Sherlock..."

"Hm?"

"The next time you think I'm a liability you're better off without, I want you to think of this moment. And I want you to remember, if you lose this, Moriarty wins."

And then he could barely breathe, and Sherlock's voice was hoarse as he whispered, "Yes John."


	4. Hounds of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is love? What is friendship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incorporates a springboard off of an 'I see what you did there' that Moffat sneaked into _Hounds of Baskerville_ :3

John hummed as he skimmed a cloth around the counter tops. He'd sent Sherlock out for groceries while he stayed to clean the flat ("Why do I have to do the shopping, you always do the shopping." "Because I don't speak Norwegian and you do." "How do you know I speak Norwegian?" "Why else would you choose to **live** in Norway?" "You _have_ gotten better." "No, I just know you.")

To his surprise, it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd feared, once the trash was gone and the clutter tidied up a little - the appliances were mostly clean and there were no crusted rings around the toilet or sink, as with some of the bachelors' flats he'd been in. And, despite the proximity of Sherlock's bizarre experiments and the one mouse, there were very few signs of vermin. He'd done rather well, considering how depressed he was. The flat itself told that story. There was nothing here, no decorations, no telly or books or entertainments of any kind, nothing. He thought about the happy face spraypainted on the wall of 221b.

Truth be told, John was quite worried about his friend. He was uncharicteristically quiet. Where was the fire? Where was the dominance? Where was the arrogance? (although John suspected that that, like the addiction, was merely sleeping.) It hurt to see his friend so badly beaten. Then John reflected that, most likely, his own friends had been thinking the same thing about him. He himself had fallen into such a deep depression, had started following his sister down the alcoholic path... Now he felt energized and alive again. And people were going to notice that, because there was no way he could fake being that depressed. Hmm. He picked up his phone and dialed. 

"...Wonderful, lovely! You know, I think it might work out very well. Excellent, yes. Not a problem, I have until the end of the month booked for holidays." John waved as Sherlock came through the door. "I can cover that end if... That would be fantastic. Yes. And could I beg another favour? Yes I know I'm asking for a lot of favours, I wouldn't if it wasn't... Yes, yes. Yes. Would you give Miss Smith a ring? Tell her I'd like to come 'round for tea when I'm back in England, I have a lead she might be interested in. Ah, that's excellent. Yes, thank you, you've been very kind. Thank you. Bye!" He quit the call then looked up at Sherlock and grinned, "I've been busy!"

"Apparently," Sherlock dropped the grocery bags on the kitchen floor, there not being enough counter space. "You look very sly and pleased with yourself so I surmise you've been in contact with some of your military network."

"Nearly right. You knew I'd been attached to a special unit on a few missions."

"Yes. So?"

"Well you've never mentioned anything about it and neither has Mycroft. And you love showing off what you've been able to find out, even Mycroft can't resist dropping little hints here and there, which is probably what got him into trouble. But neither of you have mentioned it at all, which led me to suspect that you don't actually know."

"Know what?"

"About the unit."

"What about it?"

"See, you don't know. Which leaves me in awe of their security, because I'm sure at least Mycroft has tried to find out more about it, but not a peep out of either of you, so you likely didn't get anywhere. Ha!!" John's camera clicked. 

"What was that for?"

"I love that look even better than the other one."

"What look?"

"The 'dammit you got one past me' look. You got that look when I told you Harry was my sister," John chortled. "Anyhow, if their security is so good that they can keep Mycroft out, then I figure they're safe enough for this. Plus, they're independent of Mycroft - if he's compromised, you're in big trouble and you can't afford to have that. This way, you'll have a back-up lifeline, as well as a second source of information."

"I have that with my associates in America."

"A third source then," John shrugged. He flicked a piece of paper at Sherlock, "If you need medical assistance and I can't be involved, call this doctor, she'll take care of you. You can trust her. Ah..!" John's phone rang, "Captain Watson... Well hel-LO!!!! Miss Smith! Oh you do remember me, wonderful! Yes indeed, it has... Yes, yes, I do. Yes it is. Yes. Could I...? Oh, splendid, you're so very kind... Yes. Yes, that's right. Yes. Absolutely, yes... Alright, thank you ever so much. See you then. Bye-bye." He rang off again and grinned, "And that was Mycroft's ticket out of dodge."

"Meaning?"

"You're England's best detective; that was England's best investigative journalist. If she can't ferret it out, there's nothing to ferret. And she knows how to break a story, she's brilliant at it."

"Are you talking about....??"

"I had the joy of working with her once, it was an absolute pleasure. You'd like her - ha!! There it is again." John snapped another pic, chuckling, and put the phone down, "Anyways, I've set a few other things in motion as well. Should be all set up by the time I have to go back." He saw Sherlock's face go blank. "I'm not looking forward to it either, but we both know I have to and we both know why." Sherlock nodded, once. "Anyways, I can take more holiday time later and the way I've set this up should let me move about fairly easily." That got a thin faint smile, at least. 

"My lead in Japan went cold so I'm back to the drawing board," Sherlock said as John unpacked the groceries, "Do you mind if..."

"Of course not, why would I mind? That's the whole point of this."

"I appreciate there's not a lot to keep you occupied..."

John smirked, "Sherlock, right now, just watching you work is entertainment enough. Go ahead, I'll be fine. The sooner you get this sorted, the sooner you can come home."

* * * *

It happened a few days later. John, figuring since he was out on holiday, he might as well **be** on holiday, had taken to touring around Oslo and the region while Sherlock worked. That was the idea, anyways. More often than not, he'd get partway down the street or out to the car when Sherlock would come racing out after him and catch him up, claiming to be waiting for information or that his connection was giving trouble or he was just plain unable to focus his thoughts. John wasn't sure if it was over-protectiveness or what, but Sherlock did seem to genuinely enjoy his company. "Maybe you need a holiday too," he'd said. He'd expected Sherlock to scoff but all he said was "That I wouldn't doubt." So they'd been enjoying restaurants and museums and touristy locations and John had let Sherlock make all the snarky comments he pleased, because it meant that his friend was waking up again, too. 

They'd come in from a particularly pleasant evening and John was tidying up while Sherlock checked his email. "John...?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"It might make you upset."

"...Alright." John turned around to look at him.

"Three times tonight, people have taken us for a couple but it hasn't seemed to bother you. Why is that?"

John shrugged, "Doesn't matter what anybody thinks of Ted Anders."

"But it matters what they think of John Watson."

John shrugged again, this time with a rueful expression, "Guess I'll burn that bridge when I come to it, won't I. I'll worry about it when you're able to come home again." He snorted and polished a cloth across the tap, "People have made up their minds about me anyways, despite everything I've said and evidence to the contrary. I'll just have to put up with the 'I told you sos.'"

"Story of my life," Sherlock muttered. 

John looked at him then came over to sit next to him on the lilo. "Really?"

Sherlock hmphed, "Seen that with Anderson and Donovan. Think they were the first? People have been like that since I was a child." He sighed and folded his shoulders inwards, "I don't know, John... You do your best and try to be nice and people say you're rude and crazy anyways, so what the hell's the point?"

"Hence 'manners are over-rated,'" John nodded, understanding now. He put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders, feeling proud of himself for having recognised the Sherlockese for 'hug tiem nao?'

"I put in hundreds of hours of research gathering forensics information, never asked for a dime, all I wanted was the cases and they...." he trailed off, frustrated. 

"I know," John said quietly, "I meant it when I said I had a good teacher. I don't think they realized how generous you were with your methodology. I did read your website, you know."

Sherlock snorted, "You're probably the only one. What did you do, keep hitting refresh to get the hit count up?"

John punched him lightly, grinning, "Goof. No. There are other people like you, you know. People who are interested in the analysis and the thought process. There was one lady wanted to ask about the five-square grid code, but you'd disabled your comments by then. I watched your hit counter, most of them came via my blog but there were quite a few direct hits and a lot of them were repeats." 

Sherlock grunted, unmollified. "Why are people so stupid, John?"

"I don't know. I've been asking the same question but I don't have an answer."

"I wish there were more like you."

"So do I." He rubbed Sherlock's back for a few more minutes then clapped his shoulder, "Come on, let's go to bed." He stripped his outer layers off then turned out the light and flipped the blankets onto the lilo. He settled down beside Sherlock then said, "You know what? We should get you a pet."

"A pet? Why?"

"Well, you care a heck of a lot more than you say you do, you should transfer that on to a more deserving species."

"Ha! Good one. Maybe I'll get a rat. Rats are highly intelligent creatures who get treated like vermin, we'd get along fine."

"Hmm. But they have naked tails." 

"Well if they go to Buckingham Palace I'll make sure they wear a sheet."

"Haha!!!" John turned and stifled his giggles against Sherlock's shoulder.

"People said you're my pet."

"What, really? Of course, why am I surprised..."

"They called you my pet puppy, the way you followed me around everywhere."

"Poodle?"

"Oh I hope not."

"I'd prefer terrier. Terriers chase rats."

"First I'm an otter, now I'm a rat?"

"At least you're still a mammal."

"Hm, there's that. What kind of snake is Mycroft?"

"Hm... king cobra. 'Cause he looks pretty unremarkable and he'd rather sod off but if pressed, he'll rise up and show himself to be a lot more powerful than you thought he was, and with a much wider strike zone than you anticipated."

"Hm. Good assessment, accurate."

"And its venom can bring down an elephant, although it can't eat one."

"Mycroft could, if it were frosted."

The giggling quieted down and John sighed. "People say a lot of things about us... what's the truth?"

"I don't know. People said you're in love with me but I don't think so."

John felt like he'd been punched. After all of the soul searching he'd done, after how deeply he'd spiralled down, after all those songs.... He thought about the answering songs and forced himself to ask, "They said you were in love with me, too. Were you? Are you?"

There was a long, chewed-over silence before Sherlock finally answered, "No. I don't think so. I don't know."

Add a kick to the punch. John's mind raced furiously in a storm of emotions, but the hurricane kept circling around one song in particular. He felt Sherlock roll over to face him, "See, John, I.. What I've observed and experienced of love hasn't been... Well, it's not _this._ What I've seen of love has been almost solely of possession, control and sex, and I know I just can't live like that."

John stared at Sherlock, or at Sherlock's silhouette, anyways. "What d'you mean?"

"Take Molly, for instance. Do you know what she wanted me to do, once? She wanted me to go out with her in order to make her boyfriend jealous. So that he would come and claim her, she said. Can you believe it? She is a gifted mortician and has excellent forensics instincts and she **wanted** to be treated like a..a.. a possession! Like a trophy! And she's debased herself like this, treating herself like a carpet before scores of men who are perfectly willing to walk all over her. Like she has no self-respect at all! And people say **I'm** crazy? - What kind of insanity is that?? And she's not the only one, that's the tragic part. There are hundreds, thousands of people like that."

John rather suspected he'd been one of them, thinking about his dates. The thought made him cringe but it was secondary to what was happening with Sherlock - the pent-up exasperation was unmistakable, this had been building for years. _Seem to have opened an abcess,_ he thought, _Best thing to do is let it drain._ "And sex?"

"I told you when we met, it's just not my thing, but people just fixate on it, their tawdry little minds just can't believe it."

"It is unusual," John allowed, "But yes, it is expected that men are horndogs, so they do find it hard to believe."

"So what?? Why is it such a big deal?? It's as if nobody's ever heard of 'you don't know you don't like it until you try it' or they think it doesn't apply to anything other than escargot and it's so sodding ridiculous!! Out of all of my other qualities, the one that holds their fascination is 'Ooo, has he popped his cherry yet?' as if it's the only thing that matters!!oh oh John I'm sorry I didn't mean to smack you..."

"S'alright, it's dark in here. Lemme skootch back a bit... Anyways you were saying?"

"I was saying it's all that anyone values. Wives devote themselves to their husbands for years, then menopause hits and he's off with the secretaries because she's losing interest, never mind that she's been there for him for years, never mind any of her other talents, it doesn't matter how interesting of a person she is or how intelligent she is, what matters is that she can't service him as often as he wants anymore. And that's all they care about. You watch 'round the precinct, all the blokes, they don't give a damn about the personalities of the people they pursue, they don't care about how intelligent they are or how they use their minds, all they care about is getting into their pants."

John felt like protesting, saying that that wasn't what love was about, that wasn't love at all... but he didn't. From what little he knew of the household the Holmes brothers had grown up in, their parents had pretty much loathed one another, so they likely didn't have any positive examples to compare with. And if this had been all that Sherlock had had the opportunity to observe... well that didn't make him wrong, did it. "You said, your observation and experience.... That was your observation; what was your experience?"

"...You can guess how the girlfriend went."

John could. "Yeah.... yeah, I probably can. ....Was there a boyfriend? I mean, you're generally thorough, so I just thought..."

Sherlock snerked, "The cocaine years, yes."

"Whom you slept with in exchange for coke, am I correct?"

"It was his idea but yes."

"And now have the nerve to mouth off about Molly."

"I did say I know I can't live like that."

John pushed his hands through his hair, "...Because you know how it feels and you got yourself out of it when you realized this was no way for an intelligent person to live, and you wish she'd wake up and do the same."

"See, _you_ get it."

"And he told you he loved you."

"Yes."

"And so did she, the girlfriend, I mean."

"Mm-hmm."

"Oh god, Sherlock Holmes..." John pushed his hands through his hair again and looked at him, "So what about me?"

"John, any time you wanted to leave, I wouldn't stop you. That would be a denial of your free will. Contrary to what appears to be popular belief, I don't own you. Others have tried to, though."

Again John had to suppress the rising protests and thought back over some of his dates. Some jumped out strongly, particularly the ones who'd tried to make him choose between them and his friend. "I suppose that's true."

"They treat you like a wallet with legs and a penis," Sherlock said sourly, "They don't see **you.** They don't see any of your courage or your strength or your imagination or any of your compassion. They just see you as a pushover."

"They don't see the mongoose in me, is what you're saying," John teased. "So that's why you never liked any of my girlfriends." And once again... he wasn't wrong.

"They don't see any of your own brilliance. They don't see the things that make you amazing, fascinating. They don't even try." Sherlock blew out a sigh. "As for sex, you're straight, so it's a moot point and not something I have to worry about."

John smirked in the darkness, "And yet you see me as someone you can perform experiments on."

"It was only once and you were the only one I could trust! And I knew you were strong enough. You're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know. And I'd be there for you anyways."

John thought about the number of times he'd bolted from his bed in the grip of a night terror, only to be lifted and guided back to bed by warm, strong arms. Sherlock had never asked if he was alright, only if he was injured, because he understood the distinction. How many times had he been soothed by that deep purring voice? How many times had he been lulled back to sleep by the smell of nicotine patches? "You said you don't believe that I'm in love with you; why? I presume you're going by the same standard."

"Of course. You don't try to own me. When you thought I had fallen for Irene Adler, you didn't try to stop me."

"I warned you off of her though."

"As I've warned you off of your girlfriends."

"True. Point taken."

"And as you've stated your sexual preferences repeatedly, yet you are quite attached to me, I clearly hold value to you beyond sex."

"Wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy beyond," John agreed.

"So? What's _this_ , then?"

John thought about it then conceded, "Well.. I'll concede, from the standard gleaned by your observations and experience, what we have is not love. ....although I'm forced to admit, it's not consistant with my experience, either." He reached up and touched Sherlock's forearm, "Tell you this, though, it's what love bloody well should be." He heard Sherlock humph in the darkness and lay back, watching the shadows chase across the ceiling. "...So it's all about the mind, for you?" Another grunt. John looked over at the silhouette again, "Why me, then? I mean... You were crushing on Irene Adler pretty hard..."

"I was not."

"Sure looked like it to me."

"If I had been, I would have answered her texts, wouldn't I."

John thought about how often Sherlock's text chime had pestered him. "Point," he conceded, "So why not her, then? She was yonks smarter than I am, and she totally had it for you."

"She saw me as a conquest. She just wanted to be 'The Woman Who Popped Sherlock Holmes.'" 

John didn't need light, he could hear the sneer in Sherlock's voice. "And you've already made the point about that."

"Mm-hmm."

"And of course Moriarty was a nutter."

"Mm."

"So, what, I'm the best of a bad lot?" Sherlock's head shot up and John grinned, imagining the baffled look as Sherlock backtracked over the conversation and tried to figure out where that interpretation came from. "Relax, I'm just teasing you. It's just that, if you'd wanted to, you could have reasoned your way around both of them, so I'm wondering what else they lacked."

"You're more fun," Sherlock blurted, then flailed his hands again, trying to explain, "And you're.... your brilliance goes... Look, it'd be the same as Mycroft and I, it'd be an endless competition, while you..." John ducked another flail just in time. "..You often send my thoughts in other directions, you give a different persepctive."

John thought about that. "So...... What you're saying is, I compliment you."

"Well you do tell me I'm brilliant rather a lot." John grabbed his pillow and thwapped him with it, making him laugh, "See, much more fun."

"Guess I can't argue with that," John chuckled. He reached to touch Sherlock's shoulder, then trailed his fingers up to his cheek and traced his thumb lightly over Sherlock's lips; sure enough, there was that soft-edged smile. "You know you haven't stopped smiling since I got here?"

"Neither have you."


	5. Two Steps on the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Watson puts his crazy plan into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incorporates a springboard off of an 'I see what you did there' that Moffat snuck into _Hounds of Baskerville_

John puttered about the tiny kitchen, making breakfast. Sherlock, of course, was on his computer, already working. Every now and then he glanced up at John. They'd woken up spooned together and spent a long time in a silent cuddle that communicated much between them, until nature drove them apart. 

"Communication from Mycroft," Sherlock said as John scraped eggs onto plates, "Someone's been looking into your whereabouts."

John grunted, "Well.. John Watson last checked in from Cologne. It's all been Ted Anders from there." He put the plates down. "I'm waiting for a call from an agent, someone my uncle used to work with, has a lot of connections. It'll be coming through the secure proxy line."

"Mm," Sherlock took a forkful of egg and chewed thoughtfully, staring at the screen. "Why did you bring up Moriarty?"

"Hm? When did I do that?"

"Last night, when we were talking. We were talking about the woman and then you interjected something about Moriarty - why?"

"Oh, that. Hell even I could see that, he was a classic case."

"Meaning?"

"Well you'd already spotted him as gay and he did say he'd hoped you would call. You were right up on his level, absolutely. Just as clever, just as brilliant, but you were on opposite sides, there was no way you'd go for him. If he was less of a psychotic prick, you might have done but he was too far over the line."

"So?"

"So, I think he realized that and he choked on it. That's why he went so far over the top as far as destroying you so thoroughly. That was a classic 'If I can't have him, no one can.' Hell hath no fury and all of that."

"Hm."

John's phone rang, "Captain Watson." Then his jaw dropped open, "Oh my - YOU'RE the one they... Oh my goodness, YES, Mrs. Jones! Yes, my uncle Mike, that's right... Right. Yes, that's the situation in a nutshell. Absolutely not!! No. Yes, that's right. Yes, Uncle Mike told me a bit, actually he sounds rather a lot like him. Yes. Oh goodness, really?? Oh that's ever so kind of you, Mrs. Jones... Yes. Yes. Are you sure? Are you sure it won't... That's more than I had hoped for... Yes? Yes, alright, I'll warn you though, he can be a bit short.. Yes, got the message about talking to strangers just a little too clearly, haha! ..Yes, indeed. Yes. Here he is." He held the phone out, "She wants to talk to you. _And be polite!_ "

Sherlock blinked but took the phone, "......Hello?" He listened silently for a bit, his face going through a variety of micro-expressions, faint flickers across his neutral default face. "That's... that's very kind of you. Most unexpected. But what makes you...... Oh, I see. Yes. ..Erm, Tibet, for one.. possibly Iran.. Japan yes, just came from there.. Oh. Really?" He reached for a scrap of paper and a pencil and started scribbling. "... Yes... yes.. Got it. Alright, um... Thank you." He handed the phone back, clearly baffled. 

John took it, grinning, "Yes, hello... Oh that's awfully good of you, you're sure it will be alright? Yes. Yes, I'll send you the details directly. Oh goodness, that's.. Well when you put it that way, how can I refuse? Thank you, Mrs. Jones. Yes, I'll do that. Thank you. Bye bye." He rang off. "You can trust her absolutely. When I asked for contacts, I hadn't thought they'd give me her, but I'm not arguing."

"Yes, she said they'd put me up as well as get me information."

John nodded, "Most of her network are her family - she's a matriarch. They're all over the globe." He swallowed some more breakfast. "Tibet, you said? And Iran?"

"Yes, some of the leads are pointing in those directions. They may bear checking out."

John nodded thoughtfully, "Alright. Alright, that works out."

"Hm? What does?"

"Look, you carry on and work, I'm going out for a bit of shopping."

"I'll come with you," Sherlock said, reaching to close the laptop. 

John hesitated then shrugged, "I suppose you might as well, given I just realized I don't know your ring size."

Sherlock looked puzzled, "Rings? I don't like wearing rings, why would I need a ring?"

"Because you're going to be travelling through some very conservative countries where an unmarried man of your age is quite unusual. It could cause comment. Whereas a businessman who leaves his wife and family at home while he travels is not unusual at all."

Sherlock looked thoughtful, "I see. Alright, I'll defer to your expert knowledge of the regions."

John nodded, noting that Sherlock had said that without even a trace of sarcasm. He took a breath then admitted, "I'll be buying one for myself as well." Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. "I've been thinking it over and I think it'll give me the best cover. I've been depressed enough, everyone'll believe that I went off my nut and got married to a globe-trotting businesswoman I met while on holiday. That'll explain my sudden change in mood as well as provide me with an excuse to cover me taking holiday time more frequently. My unit contacts told me they have an agent who needs a cover story and a place to stay in England, so this works out perfectly for her as well. Our contacts can cover as in-laws, so I can be monitored without arousing suspicion."

Sherlock was staring at him with the look that John liked the most. "What if your agent gets reassigned?"

John looked up at the ceiling and blew out a sigh, "Thought of that too. Well I laid my own ground work for it, didn't I? Everyone knows I'm rubbish at keeping a girlfriend; it won't come as a surprise that I'm rubbish at keeping a wife."

Yup, there was the look. The look that preceded the torrent of.. "John, you just never cease to amaze me!" -- compliments. "You're fantastic, John, you truly are! Absolutely wonderful. You've thought of everything, everything I don't think of, you think of for me! I'm lost without you!"

John risked a grin, ".....Otterly lost?" And felt warmth spread through him when Sherlock threw back his head and laughed. He reached out and squeezed his friend's hand, "I know, Sherlock. That's why I'm giving you a map."

* * * *

When Dr. John Watson had compiled his metaphoric bucket list, 'go shopping for wedding bands with ~~Sherlock Holmes~~ Linus Sigerson' was nowhere on it. He had to admit though, it had been fun, though they'd chosen plain gold bands so as to attract less attention. 

The rest of the day had been spent wandering about, sight-seeing and exploring quiet little restaurants. Sherlock went on and on about what he'd done since that awful day at St. Bart's, and John listened, letting the hyperbabble wash over him, feeling comforted. All was right with the world, all was normal again. 

"Can't believe how much I've missed this," he sighed at one point over supper. 

Sherlock looked honestly puzzled, "Really? That's not what most people say."

John smiled sadly, "Yeah, I know.. Look, I'm... I'm sorry. For what I said and how I treated you, you were...." He sighed, "You were just being you and I was too much of an idiot to understand."

Sherlock was silent for several moments. "Hardly anybody's ever even tried," he said finally.

Now it was John's turn to be silent. "Has anyone ever succeeded?"

"Mummy," Sherlock said promptly, "And Mrs. Hudson. Sometimes. She understands the important bits, anyways."

"Your brother?" John asked, mindful that they were in public and under aliases.

"Ha!" Sherlock snorted, "Never in a million years."

John nodded, then "I'll try harder to get onto the list." 

The silence stretched out. "You're number three," Sherlock offered. 

John snerked mirthlessly. After a moment he asked, "Which parent did you take after?"

"Mummy," Sherlock said promptly again, "Everyone said I was just like her. My brother's just like Daddy."

"And your parents virtually hated each other."

"Pretty much, yes. Your point?"

"Just trying to gain a little insight. You once said it wasn't you who upset your mother, when you boys had rows."

"He thinks I was Mummy's favorite but he's got it wrong. He was her favorite; I was the one she understood."

"She didn't understand him?"

"No more than he understood us."

"Did you understand her?" 

"Oh yes. Used to seek her out," Sherlock's eyes grew misty, "I used to... encourage our nanny to take a sick day, then go find where they were keeping her."

John sat up, blinking, "'Where they were keeping her'??"

"They thought she was a bad influence on me," Sherlock said simply. 

"She's your Mummy, how was she a 'bad influence'?"

"She was like me," Sherlock said with a little shrug, "And she let me.... be me, I suppose."

"And they thought that was wrong??"

"Ted, everybody thinks that's wrong, even you."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with being yourself!"

"Ted, what did you just say seven minutes ago? You said 'you were just being yourself and I was too much of an idiot to understand.'"

John pressed his face into his hands for several minutes. Finally he looked out the window, hand pressed against his mouth. "Yeah, I did say that, didn't I." 

"That's how people are, you've seen it. They say 'just be yourself' then when you are, they get offended and, what's the vernacular, 'butt-hurt' and say you're mean and call you names."

"If you were more polite..."

"Why should I be? It doesn't change anything. They still call me names and say I'm not doing it right so sod them if nothing's good enough for them! They want me to be an arse, fine, that's what they can have. I won't waste the effort on people who aren't worth it."

John wanted to protest but was halted in his tracks by a sudden, vivid memory - Sherlock, turning him down when he thought John might be hitting on him. It was followed by other times when Sherlock had made a real effort... and then the times when he'd made a real effort, only to have it fall flat or worse. And how withdrawn he'd become, afterwards. And he thought about some of the talks he'd had with Mrs. Hudson, after Sherlock's 'death.' He looked out the window again. "I'm sorry."

"If it's worth anything, so am I," Sherlock said quietly.

John looked back, "Why wouldn't it be worth anything?"

"It never is, so I gave it up. Not worth the effort if people are just going to throw it back at me."

Once again, John looked out the window. "But I'm worth it, then?"

"Yes."

"I can see I've got a lot to learn," he sighed. 

"You don't have to."

John looked back and smirked, "No. Ohhhh no. Uh uh, you don't get off that easily. I didn't chase you this far just to get scared off."

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments. "They used to punish her, did you know?"

"What for... for spending time with you? For... letting you.. 'be yourself', you said?" 

Sherlock nodded, "They punished her for it. Told her she wasn't a good enough mother, told her she wasn't capable. I heard them argue about it."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Her parents, Daddy, the nanny... everybody. They all broke the core of her and it killed her. She was brilliant, utterly brilliant, and they broke her until she shattered." John saw the dark shadows flicker across Sherlock's grey eyes and realized the wound was still very, very raw. Then for some reason, he thought of Irene Adler. "I asked her once why she didn't leave," Sherlock was saying, "Do you know what she said? She said there were two reasons and she was talking to one of them. She risked everything to keep them from breaking the core of me. I won't betray that," he said in a fierce whisper, "I won't! Not for anything!" He shot a look directly into John's eyes, "Or anyone."

 _'Learn to love all of me as I am, or leave now, while you can,'_ John translated. But he'd been talking to Mrs. Hudson and to a few other people. He knew what he was up against and knew it wasn't insurmountable. And he knew that if Sherlock had been like everyone else, he wouldn't be able to fill the voids in John's soul. "I won't ask you to," he said, "I've already been through this. I came after you knowing what you're like and I'm not changing my mind. I'm just going to have to learn." 

Sherlock smiled faintly and paid for their meal. "We should get back," John said as they pulled their coats on. 

"Yes."

"'Cause I think we're being followed."

"I know."

* * * *

The only light in the flat was Sherlock's laptop, but that was enough for John as he assembled his gun and fitted it with its silencer. 

"You're expecting visitors."

"Aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Good, 'cause I brought you your revolver."

Sherlock took it with a grin. "There's a flight to Iran out of Cologne tomorrow. I can just make it if the train's on time. There - I've booked our tickets on the overnight. Mycroft'll take care of the flat."

John nodded and came over to kneel beside him on the lilo, "Here's your ring. Now... look, Sherlock... Promise me that when this is all over, you'll come home? And if you can't... Give it three years, say? And if it looks like you can't come home, tell me and take me with you? 'Cause I'm just as lost without you, Sherlock. Do you promise me you'll come home?"

Sherlock took the ring and slid it onto his finger. "... I do promise, John. I do. But..." He could just make out John's eyes, the soulful eyes that he found so easy to look into, so unlike anyone else's, "Do you promise me that you'll still be there for me to come home to?"

John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes then looked up again, "Oh god yes, of course I do! Of course I do!" Sherlock gave him the other ring and their arms slid around each other. _Hang on, what the hell did I just do? .... SHIT!!!_ "Sherlock, don't move."

"I see it."

John pulled away slowly, eyes tracking the laser sight as it sought a target. He reached for his gun and slid along the floor on his knees, skootching carefully around the lilo. "Stay where you are," he whispered as he went, "He's probably using night-vision goggles. The open window's probably confusing them and he can't get a firm line of sight." He raised his gun and sighted carefully through the narrow gap between the slightly opened window and the frame. There was a soft _thwip_ and then silence. "Got him. That'll take some explaining."

"You didn't even break the window," Sherlock whispered, "You didn't even use a sight." John turned and saw the shadows of Sherlock's admiring grin, "Astounding! You are amazing, just fan--*" Sherlock broke off and John turned his head. Both of them watched the shadows moving under the door jamb. John sidled silently to stand beside it while Sherlock packed the laptop and tucked it away with silent hurry.

They waited. 

When the door burst open, John seized the arm of the first man and pulled him through, hit him in the throat then threw him forward for Sherlock to deal with. The second man was trickier but was subdued with a throw and a few bruised knuckles. Then a rose of pain blossomed with a sharp crack and he realized he'd been shot. He staggered back, clutching the wound.

 ** _"JOHN!!"_** There was a rush and a crunch, then through the clanging in his head, John realized that Sherlock had the third man by the throat and was beating him senseless. Whatever rage had driven him to throw the American who'd tortured Mrs. Hudson out of the window was a mere fraction of what was driving him now!

John managed to get the light on and cleared enough blood to inspect the wound. "Linus! Linus, I'm fine! It only grazed me, I'll be fine! Just get my kit."

Sherlock stared at him, eyes wild with fear and concern, then the rage ignited again and he hauled the gunman bodily up against the wall, holding him six inches above the floor. "If you had killed him, you would not leave this room alive!" he hissed. He backhanded the man with the butt of his revolver then flung the unconscious body onto the floor with the others. 

"My kit, Sherlock. It's in my backpack," John panted. 

Sherlock whirled, tore through the pack, then whirled to John's side. The calm came over him quickly as he helped to clean the wound. As he waited for the local anesthetic shots to take effect, John watched him. All the shields were dropped now, the ice blue eyes were full of love and loyalty and pain, the face no longer composed. John could sense the emotion surging through in waves. _It's a tsunami wall,_ he thought wonderingly, _They're wrong about you. They think you incapable of emotion and they're wrong, it's there and it's strong and your face holds it back. Every time your face went wooden, were you holding back something this strong?_ He bent to stitch the wound, glancing up every few seconds. _It's worth it. It's worth it, to see this. If this is what it takes to understand you, Sherlock Holmes, I'd take a hundred bullets._ He bandaged the wound in silence. 

"John?"

"I'm fine, really. It was just a scratch, you saw it. Now help me up and I'll get cleaned up. We've got a train to catch."


	6. Sweet Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment both of them have been dreading has come.

John woke to the rhythmic movement of the train and the warmth of a body spooned behind him. His fingers were intertwined with Sherlock's. He listened for a few moments and concluded that Sherlock was awake. "'M'rni'n."

"Mm."

"W't t'me 's it?"

"Still early, sun hasn't come up yet."

"Doesn't mean much this far north," John smiled.

"Still hours to go yet."

"S'fine," John sighed contentedly, "S'more comfortable than the lilo. You packed it, right? You might need it."

"No point, it's shot. Literally, the bullet hit it."

"Oh." John thought about that. "...Did it, y'know, flibber around the room like a giant balloon?" They both dissolved in giggles.

"No. It did sort of waterski across the floor though." More giggles. 

John turned onto his back and snuggled against Sherlock. "How come we always end up holding hands?" he asked rhetorically.

Sherlock gave a quick little grin, "So we don't float apart." 

Well it was meant to be rhetorical. "What?"

"Didn't you know that? Otters sleep holding hands, so they don't drift away from each other on the currents." John burst out laughing. "I can see you have a lot to learn about otters," Sherlock teased.

"Especially the significant ones," John giggled. 

A cozy silence stretched out between them. "I don't want to go," Sherlock whispered, "I don't want to have to leave you again."

"You could take me with you," John suggested, then added ruefully, "It's not like there's anyone going to miss me."

"More than you think," Sherlock chided him, then squeezed his shoulders, "I wish I could take you with me but it's getting too dangerous."

"Yeah, spotted that, thanks. You know I thrive on that." John smirked, then sighed, "You're right, I know. I need to keep the attention off of you back in England and I need to talk to Miss Smith. I know my mission."

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it..."

"If you start humming the _Mission: Impossible_ theme, I swear I'll thump you."

They dissolved in giggles again. "Hey, John?"

"Hm?"

"Who's idea was the t-shirts?"

"What t-shirts oh those t-shirts, the ones that bloody say 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes', yeah no that was Harry's idea," John pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing.

"But you went along with it. I mean, what's next, John, 'clap if you believe in Sherlock'?"

"Well if it worked for Tinkerbell..." 

Now it was Sherlock who laughed. "Johhhhhhhn! What are you doing, you're turning me into a bloody religion!"

"That's right, I aim to be pastor of the First Church of the Insufferable Redeemer." They dissolved into giggles again.

"Oh god, John, the things you come up with."

"Well I have you to thank for that, don't I."

Sherlock looked like he was debating whether to say something, then finally quipped, "Oh is that what it is, here was me thinking it was just morning reflex." It took a second then John blinked and burst out laughing. "You know, I always thought that would be a good name for a casket maker - 'Mourning Wood.'"

"Oh god, Sherlock...!" John wiped his eyes and looked at him speculatively, then looked at the ceiling again, "Nah, moot point."

"Hm?"

"Sorry, was just..." Ah heck, moot point is moot anyways. "Was just thinking about what you said about applying to more than escargot."

"Mm."

"But if you don't like it.."

"I don't like hugging, spending time with people, having someone in my bed or wearing rings, either." 

John thought about that. "But you like all that with me."

"Mm-hmm."

Another thoughtful pause. "Couple of hours, you said?"

"Mm-hmm."

"...Want to try an experiment?"

"Oh god yes."

* * * *

"Quick question," John said as they got dressed. 

"Hm?"

"You said you hadn't relapsed."

Sherlock paused. He'd been dreading this. "I hadn't."

"So why'd you have the cocaine? And if you tell me you had it **just in case** you needed to outfit a couple of would-be assassins to look like a drug deal gone wrong, I will know for sure you are lying, so don't even try."

"Yes John."

John turned him around. "It was that close, was it?" he said softly. Sherlock looked away, guilty. "Is the medicine helping?"

"Won't know until you're gone, will I."

"Meaning?"

"I said it's you that helps the most."

John nodded, clutching Sherlock's hands to his chest. "You're my drug too," he said at last, "And it's going to be hell doing without you again." He looked up again, "I've got more holiday time I can take later on, and we can get messages to each other through my unit contacts if we have to. I know it's a risk."

Sherlock stroked his thumbs over John's fingers and admitted, "One worth taking, I think."

John smiled and pulled his jumper on. "One more thing.... Was it any different?" Sherlock looked away, unwilling to lie but knowing that to answer truthfully would cause as many problems as lying. "No, really, you can tell me. I promise I won't take it as a reflection."

"...Not different enough," Sherlock sighed, sounding genuinely disappointed. 

John chewed that over thoughtfully. He caressed his hand over Sherlock's arm and noted the flinch, "What does that feel like, for you?"

Sherlock cast about for a way to answer then said, "Remember last summer when you got sunburn and couldn't stand anyone touching you?"

John nodded, "Too intense, then. What about this?" He tried a firmer stroke, not skimming so lightly. 

"That's better," Sherlock allowed. John traced his hand up to his shoulder, with the same firmer touch, and Sherlock smiled that soft-edged smile, "Clearly more research is needed."

John smiled then the smile turned wistful, "I hope we'll get the chance."

"What about you? Are you alright with it?"

John sighed heavily, but nodded. "I don't know what this makes me, now... gay or bi or what. Maybe I'm just... I don't know, Holmesosexual."

"Holmesosexual!" Sherlock actually broke up laughing, "Ohhh don't let Mycroft hear that, he'll think you're macking on him." Then they both broke up laughing. 

"I liked the suits better," John admitted, watching as Sherlock pulled his hoodie over his head, "And you look much better without the rubbish beard." Then he grinned wickedly, "But I liked you best in the sheet."

Sherlock's eyes sparkled with mischief, "Only because you love trolling Mycroft."

"It's a fair cop," John laughed, "Come on, you silly git, let's go get breakfast. I'm starving after all that."

* * * *

Cologne. Sherlock had done his best to find a suitable flight out of Brussels, just to try to stay a little bit longer in John's company, but it just wasn't to be. They had enough time to get one last meal together, then Sherlock would have to rush for his plane, leaving John to return to London alone. 

"You're to keep on the medication and the vitamin pills."

"Yes Ted."

"If you need to, you can double the dose but mind you don't take it too late in the day or it'll keep you up at night and you have enough trouble sleeping as it is."

"Yes Ted."

"And you're to take care of yourself."

"Yes Ted."

"You know what I mean by that. You're to eat regular meals with protein."

"Yes Ted."

"Protein's brain food. That's why your thoughts start splintering apart when you stop eating, your brain's run out of fuel, so keep on it. A boiled egg'll do."

"Yes Ted."

"And be nice to Mrs. Jones's family, even if they're stupid."

"Yes Ted."

"And stop saying 'Yes Ted.'"

"No Ted."

"Ahhhhhh you're terrible. It's no wonder your brother's so vexed with you. Mind you, he only brings it on himself. You're how old now and he's still calling you 'little brother' and then he wonders why you continue to act like one."

"..."

"......."

"............"

"Oh go on, say it."

"Yes Ted." They broke into giggles. 

John turned to him, gazing earnestly into the ice blue eyes, "Remember your promise. You're coming back."

"I will," Sherlock whispered.

"And if you get yourself killed, I will personally track you down, dig you up and spit on you. So stay alive."

"Just for you, John. Only for you."

John stared at him, then nodded. "Well..... You'd better go then, it'll take you a while to get through Customs."

Sherlock nodded, but it was several moments before they moved to part. Then Sherlock pulled John back into a tight hug. "John," he whispered, then kissed him. 

_This is the part where I should worry that people are going to talk,_ John thought, before thought wasn't possible, _And I don't care._ Then Sherlock pulled back and gazed at him, chewing his lip, clearly trying to think of what to say. "I don't-love you," he whispered finally. 

John felt like he'd been shot again. Then he thought about the conversation, and how what they had wasn't love as either of them had experienced it, and he realised that there was a hyphen in there. And he smiled. "I don't-love you too." They hugged again. "Now get going, or neither of us will get any work done and you'll never be able to come home." Sherlock nodded, then picked up his case, turned and walked away without a backward glance. Because a backward glance would be too much. 

John shouldered his backpack and picked up his duffel. He had a train to catch.


	7. When Johnny Comes Marching Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Watson returns from his holiday.

The trip home had been uneventful. John was still on holiday time, so he'd dawdled about and done some sight-seeing. It wasn't as much fun without Sherlock there, analyzing all of the tourists, but he was able to relax a little and enjoy it. 

Mostly. Mostly, he spent the whole trip back staring at his ring and thinking, _Bloody hell, what the heck happened back there? Oh my god, I really **did** go off my nut and get married! I bloody married bloody Sherlock bloody Holmes, what the hell was I thinking?? Only it wasn't... oh god, all that was missing were the witnesses and the bloody piece of paper. Oh bloody hell, we even consummated! What the hell did I think I was doing??_

Deep down, a tiny voice whispered, _What if he thinks it was real?_

Deeper down, an even tinier voice answered, _What if I think it was real?_

He sighed and checked the player, to find that a new song had been added. He listened to When In Rome's _The Promise_ and only just managed to keep his face composed. He thought for a while then uploaded _That's All_ , by Genesis, then tucked the player away as the train approached the station.

He collected his duffel from the baggage claim and hopped down the steps of the station, intending to take the Tube home. Then he spotted the black car. His phone chimed. _Ohhhhhh no,_ John stared and shook his head, _I'm not back thirty minutes and I have to deal with the brother-in-law. What the bloody hell._

[14:32 Mycroft Holmes] Welcome back, Dr. Watson. I've taken the liberty of sending a car around for you. I apologise for being unable to welcome you personally.

[14:36 John Watson] I'm going home and putting the kettle on. See you at seven.

[14:38 Mycroft Holmes] Very good, Dr. Watson.

John smirked mirthlessly, noting the time stamp - that made Mycroft pause, literally. He shook his head again and went up to the black car with its waiting, slightly-smirking driver. 

He opened the door of 221b and wrinkled his nose at the mess. How had he let it get this bad? Well, easy to do when nothing seemed to matter anymore. He put his luggage away and started going around the flat with a garbage bag. He caught sight of the smiley face spraypainted onto the wall - and smiled back. Yes. He had most of the garbage gone when the bell rang. It was only quarter to four. He opened it to see a pale blonde lady with a charming smile.

"Dr. Watson, I presume?"

He smiled widely, "Oh you must be Agent Morstan, a pleasure to meet you. Do come in. Would you like some tea? The kettle's just boiled. Oh, um... I apologise for the mess, I was just in the middle of cleaning up."

"That's fine, I understand you've been in mourning. Hang on a mo'.." The pretty woman held up a device he didn't recognise and was apparently taking a scan of the room. The device bleeped and she frowned at it, then aimed it at an area and pressed a button, causing the surveillance device hidden behind the bookshelf to burst a capacitor with a puff of smoke. "There we are! Looks like that was the only one but I'd like to scan the other rooms just to be certain."

"By all means, better safe than sorry. It might be a good idea to scan Mrs. Hudson's flat as well, I'll clear it with her."

"Certainly. Where can I put my bags?"

"You can have my room, if you like. I'll sleep in Sherlock's old room unless there's suspicion." He looked at her, "I know you'll be covering as my wife, but I want you to know, I don't expect anything of you in terms of sleeping together. The fact is..." he thought about how to say it then smiled slightly, "I consider myself married to my work and.. I'm really not looking for another relationship."

She patted his arm sympathetically, "I understand. I just got divorced. I wasn't happy when my superiors offered me this cover story but it seems it'll work out nicely. Let me go put these away then I'll come help you with the cleaning."

"Oh, you don't have to do that..."

"Silly! I'm your wife now, of course I will!"

"Ah, I suppose I should give you a heads-up.. I'm having a guest..."

* * * *

It was a cold, blattery rain, the kind that soaked through into the bones, no matter how many layers one wore. He pressed the bell and waited. The door opened and warm light spilled forth, but the pretty pale female face took him by surprise. "Ohh hello!! You must be Mycroft!" it chirped, "John's told me so much about you! Come in, do. I'm Mary Marston I mean Mary Watson!" The woman giggled girlishly and Mycroft's eye caught the shiny new wedding band on her finger. "Johhhhn! Your friend is here!!"

John came out of the kitchen, polishing a glass. He smiled a warm wide smile and waved a hand, "Hello!" 

Mycroft had spotted the ring and microexpressions flitted across his face - puzzlement, realization, disappointment, disgust, all quickly submerged as he summoned his thin smile, "Doctor Watson, welcome home. It appears your holiday was beneficial."

John grinned goofily and looked back to where Mary was pulling on her coat, "Yeah, I know. I mean, it was."

"I'm popping out to the shops, love, I'll be back in a while. Bye bye, pleasure to meet you!"

Mycroft waved politely and waited until the door was closed and the footsteps had faded away before saying, " _Really,_ John?"

John beamed boyishly, "Really! Got married!" He held up his ring.

Mycroft searched his face but could detect no indication that John was telling anything other than the truth. He shook his head. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

John fell quiet and passed a hand over his face before finally saying, "No." He watched Mycroft's face melt into bewildered disappointment. 

"I see," Mycroft said at last, "I..'m sorry to hear that. I......... had genuinely hoped that you would."

"Can't see why. It's not like you respected him or anything."

"He was my **little brother** , Doctor Watson."

"Yes, just that, that right there. He was how old and you're _still_ calling him 'little brother', even in public, and then you act all surprised that he lived up to your expectations. Wouldn't want to disappoint you, now, would he."

Mycroft was silent, digesting this and wondering where it was going. "I see."

John pushed a hand through his hair and pulled out his disposable phone, "I did make a new friend though. His name's Linus Sigerson." Mycroft looked up and the ghost of a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. "I'll be deleting these straight away after you've seen them. Although, god, I wish I didn't have to, I got some great expressions here." He watched Mycroft's face soften and change as he thumbed through the images. 

"He looks like a complete chav."

"Oh he does, doesn't he, and I teased him endlessly about that dead mouse on his chin, but he says it's been working so who am I to argue."

"Otters? I note they are captioned as 'not significant.'"

"An inside joke, sorry. Ah, that one's my favorite. We took an overnight trip to see the Saltstraumen."

Mycroft gazed at the image of Sherlock on the bridge overlooking the maelstrom. His back was to the camera and he'd turned to look over his shoulder, apparently in response to John. His soft smile touched his eyes and lit them as brightly as the sunlight that glittered on the spray frosting his hair and clothes. Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose and passed his hand over his face - Sherlock looked happier than Mycroft had ever known him to be. "Thank you," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Do you know, Doctor Watson, that until you came into his life, I had not seen him smile since he was thirteen."

"Which is when the bullying **really** amps up," John sighed, "Never seen you actually _care_ before. You know he thought you only kept contact out of some sort of filial obligation?" He reached to take the phone back and winced as the movement strained his stitches. 

"You are injured?"

"Yeah, got tagged in Oslo, three thugs and a sniper. It's just a scratch though, a few stitches was all it took. Can't say the same for the lilo though, it's toast." He gave Mycroft a serious look, "You'll understand I can't tell you everything. I'd like to trust you, Mycroft, but I can't, not while you're over that barrel. ....'Course, even then I wouldn't trust you."

Mycroft shrugged ruefully, "Goes with the job, I'm afraid." He turned thoughtful for a moment. "What was in your left pocket?"

"The full details of everything you'd done. Everything you'd told Moriarty, everything you'd done to get your own brother discredited and killed. They'd have found it on the bodies." John watched that sink in. "So I hope I'm not wrong about you."

Mycroft's thin smile was thinner than usual, "Happily, you appear to be an excellent judge of character."

"Yeah well... We're going to try to kick that barrel out from underneath you."

"I appreciate the thought."

"You don't think we can do it; well, we'll find out, won't we. He's on his way to Asia now, chasing another lead."

Mycroft frowned, "I have had no contact?"

"No. As I said, we can't trust you fully, so I've made some alternative arrangements so there's a Plan B. It's safer for you as well, fewer contacts to risk being traced back to you. And this place is safe; I don't know if that little doohickey was yours or not, but it's toast now."

Mycroft passed a hand over his face and shook his head, "No. I am not aware of any surveillance devices placed here. I did warn you, you are still in danger."

John nodded, "Yeah, I saw where the snipers were aiming. Someone wants me out of the way and I have a few suspicions as to who. It's better that I know what's going on. I've taken steps to protect myself."

"I see. Very well, I shall take that into consideration."

"Did your staff wake up alright?"

"No worse than a slight headache," Mycroft shook his head and sniffed, "Another of my brother's habits I see you've adopted."

"Yeah he mentioned something about 'encouraging the nanny to take a sick day', but I was so blown away by 'finding where they were keeping Mummy' that it blew past me."

"Ha! - Yes. Every now and then, he'd come up to our nanny with the sweet little angel face and 'Pweathe Mithith Nethbitt, I made you a thandwich?'" He smirked slightly as John fell about laughing. "It took them ages to figure out what he was doing. The horrible little swot had a cutting board hidden in the treehouse. Mummy found it and cultured it, it was a bloody salmonella factory! The precious little monster was poisoning the nanny!" John was almost crying with laughter by now. "Mummy put a stop to that, of course, but it didn't stick. We later found he'd taken the phenolphthalein from his chemistry kit and was putting it into Daddy's tea, after Mummy accused him of being... mm, constipated, shall we say." Now John **was** crying with laughter. Mycroft smiled, "Eventually we concluded that slipping noxious substances into one's food was just his way of showing he cared."

"Oh god...! Poisoning his nanny so he could get more time with Mum! That's almost tragic," John wiped his eyes, "Well that explains the sugar. At least it's for a good cause."

"Indeed," Mycroft said ruefully, "Every time he's done it, it's been mostly well-intentioned. Frightening that he thinks that way."

"Not really," John countered, "Phenolphthalein **is** an excellent laxative. Besides, you've seen how a **real** psychopath thinks, now. Sherlock was in left field but at least he was still in the ball park."

"True. I cannot argue with that," Mycroft sighed. 

John got a twinkle of mischief, "So...... What did he drug you with?" 

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and actually turned pink! "When I was in my teens and... rash... Well, he was much more adept at breaking into Daddy's liquor cabinet and he took the blame... How was I to know he'd spike my Thermos with scotch?" 

John roared with laughter, "He spiked your school lunch?"

"It was a ten-year single malt. **Very** smooth."

John wiped his eyes again, "Well. If you want to share Sherlock stories, I'm a hell of a lot safer than the Moriartys."

"I shall bear that in mind." Mycroft stood up and flashed a brief smile that was much warmer than any that John had ever seen before, "Doctor, thank you. I have enjoyed this visit. Do keep in touch?"

"Of course. As I said, I have plans to get you off of that barrel."

"Which I do appreciate. It is not at all a pleasant position to be in," Mycroft sighed, "As much as it may appear otherwise at times, we are actually on the same side, Doctor Watson. Especially when it comes to him."

John took the offered hand but met the cobra's eyes with a steady gaze, "I'd like to believe that, Mycroft. Maybe one day I will."

He saw Mycroft out then went back up to the sitting room. He picked up his phone and called the investigative journalist to arrange a time to talk. Then he looked around and his eyes fell on the happy face spraypainted on the wall. He smiled back at it. Then he found his old Kate Bush CD, cranked up the volume, and sang along with _Burning Bridge_ while he finished vacuuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nanny poisoning courtesy of Axolotl_Lan, who has a twisted imagination.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after.

Dr. Watson was booking off, exhausted after a long day at the clinic. He picked up his phone and his player, checking it as he always did. He smiled as he saw a new song had been uploaded. It was Blue Oyster Cult's _Veteran of the Psychic Wars._ He thought about how to reply. When he got home, he uploaded 54-40's _Have Some Faith._

Three months later, he found Peter Schilling's _Major Tom_ on the player. He tried to puzzle out the meaning behind it on the way home from the clinic. He turned the key in 221b and opened the door. Mary was sitting on the sofa but stood up when he entered the room. "Doctor Watson," she said formally, "I'm afraid I must tell you that your wife has been diagnosed with Leukemia A."

John stared at her, confused, "Mary, what....? You... Leukemia?"

She shook her head and smiled, "Not me, no - your wife. I'm afraid she doesn't have long to live. About six weeks is the estimate."

John was still baffled... then realization dawned, "You mean.... he's...?"

"Almost done," Mary smiled, "It's been a pleasure working with you, John. I must admit, he's a lucky man to have a partner like you."

"I'll miss you," John said honestly, "You've been a great friend as well as a fantastic agent."

"So have you," she smiled. 

A fortnight later, the story exploded all at once. Scandal in the government, global crime network... John smirked mirthlessly at the bit about some members of the House of Lords' ties to an international paedophile and drug trafficking ring - someone had something to hide, alright, people with reason to fear the all-knowing Mycroft Holmes, to want him out of the way. And it all came crashing down. Once the story broke, the rest of the dominoes fell in an ever-spreading pattern. Restoring the honour of one of England's finest, most maligned sons. Of John Watson's best friend. _Thank you, Miss Smith._

The week after, John found _Clocks_ by Coldplay on his player, while Mary Watson passed away. He signed the papers confirming his wife's death, then shook hands with Agent Morstan who'd been his companion the last couple of years, and wished her luck on her next assignment. 

A fortnight after that, John woke up to find the Smashing Pumpkins' _Tonight Tonight_ on his player and he grinned. He uploaded the Pukka Orchestra's cover of _Listen to the Radio_ and went to work. On the way home, he stopped at the shops to pick up some milk, bread, tea and beer, then stopped at a chippy to pick up some supper. 

He was almost at the door when he spotted the shadow in the window of 221b. He stared, holding his breath... then felt his heart stutter and leap in his chest when he caught a glimpse of a familiar smile. He paused with his key in the lock,listening, struggling for composure as the faint strains of the violin floated through the door. Finally he swallowed, opened the door, and stepped through.

"Oy, you! You finally shaved that mouse off!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be more in-between stuff but it hasn't gelled yet, so I figured I should get this out and done with so it's not left hanging if my muse does another runner :3

**Author's Note:**

> None of this is canon, other than the bits that are.
> 
> Now has a sequal, _The Gyre_


End file.
